A Weed In The Garden
by Jaganashi
Summary: A collection of drabbles, ficlets, and everything in bewteen that touches on the life of Shuichi Minamino. Sometimes the creeping weeds and wildflowers that weren't intended for the garden end up blossoming into the most stunning of all.
1. Nightmares

Disclaimer: Don't own, no profit.

**Nightmares**

Shuichi's childhood had been filled with nightmares, the kind of which Shiori could only wonder about. What kind of terrors could a child of less than a year already have haunting his mind? The little toddler would fidget and toss, the delicate skin of his eyelids twitching violently as his eyes darted back and forth in his sleep. Shiori would watch for a few moments, her heart in her throat as her little boy seemed to be terrorized by monsters that he shouldn't yet know exist.

She could only take so much before she would wake him, despite knowing how long it would take him to fall back to sleep afterward. Bright green eyes would startle open, pure fear shining through with unsettling clarity. She would take him up into her arms, pressing his soft little head tightly to her chest. Her hands would grasp his small body tightly, trying to fend off whatever night terrors had such a terrible grip on her son. His body would stay rigid, and on worse nights, young muscles would jerk and spasm away from her touch. Away from his mother.

And she would wonder, what could be so terrible that her own touch makes him flinch? Why would those eyes stare at her, with the solemnity of a man ragged from war?

Shiori could never find those answers, and the nightmares remained. Shuichi learned to talk of many things as he grew older. Though he always seemed to be sparing and decisive with his words, he refused to share any about the visions that gripped his nights. No talk of monsters or falling, not even acknowledgment of the fear itself. He would avert his eyes and offer empty reassurances that a child shouldn't feel the need for.

While the nightmares never faded, a transformation took place that warmed her weary heart. Over the years, Shuichi's flinching reaction to Shiori's midnight comforts lessened. Her hand would wipe the sweat soaked bangs out from a ten year old's eyes, and his body would relax against hers. Her gentle but strong palms would rub up and down that small shaking frame, and his chest would expand in a relieved sigh. Eventually, her son came to find solace in her tender comfort.

"Mother," he would say, ever so softly. And it had always been mother- not mom, nor mommy. He would whisper 'mother,' then lay his cheek to rest on her shoulder as she spoke soothing words and gave warm touches. There were nights that he would grip her tightly, clinging to her as if she were some flighty thing that would be gone come morning. It was on these nights that she would lie with him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead until he fell back to sleep. Despite his protests and dismissals, she would curl him against herself and pet the soft, vibrant hair of her son until his breath evened and sleep reclaimed him. He never did speak of the night terrors that had plagued him since birth, and she resigned herself to never knowing.

Shiori had made a decision early in Shuichi's life. A decision that came to her from the lonely hardness in her son's eyes when they would blink open from some haunting vision.

Whatever pain and sorrow her little boy had been born with, she would do her very best to chase away the nightmares and let her kisses soften the pain. She would fill that child with all the love that she has for him, and hope that it would be enough to give him happiness. She would show him not _how_ to live, but _why_.


	2. Tend Thy Own Garden

Author's Notes: Thank you, to everyone who reviewed the first piece! When they're short like this, I feel unsure about posting them at all. Thanks for the encouragement!

**Tend Thy Own Garden**

Dusk was falling slowly upon a quiet little street, in a quiet little neighborhood. Shadows lengthened and stretched across unremarkable houses, most of which were small and cookie-cut to fit within the tiny plots of land. Men and women, retiring home from their days of work and shopping, would make their way by an ordinary mail center that listed that Sakura Street's residents by name. Takata, Ando, Uchida, Minamino. A name for every box, a house for every family.

Within sight of the mail boxes, and some would say within sight of everything that happened on this street, was a quaint little porch with comfortable chairs worn with years of use. A woman with graying hair sat on her favorite rocker, tapping back and forth with gentle familiarity as sharp eyes took in the sights that she had been calling home for over forty years. Mrs. Sato watched as Mr. Matsumoto cut his grass in the cool of the early evening. Her eyes followed the little girl from the Okada household as she ran down the sidewalk carrying a school project that looked bent and jostled from the trip home.

"Are you feeling any better, Mrs. Sato?" A woman, perhaps fifteen years her junior, made herself comfortable in the next chair over. She was greeted with a smile and a nod, followed by a cough that rattled the older woman's chest.

"Oh, I'm doing well enough so long as the doctors don't give me medicine that does more harm than good! I feel better with a friend by my side, though. Oh, Rina. Thank you for visiting an old lady who has nothing better to do than drink tea and bid farewell to the sun."

Two sets of eyes watched as the front door of the Minamino house opened, a young Shuichi making the short trip to check the day's mail.

"Oh, pish posh! You know that I enjoy your company." The two women shared a smile and sat in silence for a moment, then Mrs. Sato cleared her throat before speaking. "There's something strange about that boy."

Rina nodded in agreement, both watching as the Minamino mail was shuffled in small pale hands. "Mm. Strange, indeed."

The older woman coughed again, pulling the cotton shawl around her shoulders more tightly. "He never has any friends over. Have you ever seen other children around that house?" Her guest shook her head as Shuichi walked back toward his own home. "No, not at all."

Mrs. Sato frowned, making the wrinkles in her face deepen as if the action were second nature. "Strange, isn't it?" Green eyes glanced toward their porch briefly, before continuing down his own walkway. The women knew that they could not be heard from the road, so there was no hesitation in the reply. Rina agreed with a nod of her head. "Oh, yes. A little boy without any friends or playmates? It's not right."

The elder of the two shifted in her seat, her brown eyes losing focus as she thought aloud. "She says that he's twelve. The way he follows behind her, though? Carrying the groceries and weeding the garden, never leaving her side and not even glancing down the street at the other children playing ball. Not like any twelve year old I know."

The other woman nodded, making herself comfortable as she listened to the evening gossip. "Hm, no, not at all." She knew that there would be more, and Mrs. Sato did not disappoint.

"And that hair! Letting someone so young do that to themselves. It just encourages that antisocial behavior."

Rina quirked an eyebrow, prompting the other woman. "You don't think it's natural?" This was met with a loud scoffing noise that quickly turned into yet another rattling cough. Once settled and breathing evenly, Mrs. Sato leveled her voice into a sound of authority on the subject. "Oh, certainly not. With the mother's own dark hair?"

She shook her head and clicked her tongue, but the younger woman voiced a suggestion. "The father may have been an immigrant. Ireland or Scotland, perhaps. They have shocking hair colors over there."

Mrs. Sato's frown faded at the idea, but her voice reflected the condescension still in her thoughts. "It wouldn't surprise me. A young woman living alone with such an odd child? The father probably left just as soon as he could. Caught the first boat back to wherever he came from to get out of that situation."

Rina tried to fight off the grin of amusement, her own voice thick with false compliments. "Hm. The mother seems nice enough, and she's lovely to look at. But it _is_ strange."

The veiled attempt at playing devil's advocate was enough to make the older woman scoff again, the resulting coughs still not enough to cover the disdain in her next words. "What kind of woman has a child without a husband, and then isn't a fit enough mother to see that something's wrong with the boy?"

Both women jumped in their seats, startled and clutching at their chests when a young voice replied, "The kind of woman who takes an hour out of her busy day and food from her lean pantry to simmer a soup for her sick neighbor." Two pairs of eyes, wide with surprise, looked over to find a young red haired boy standing at the side of the porch as if it were the most natural place to be. The women glanced at one another, neither having seen the boy leave his house or enter their yard. The shame and embarrassment of being caught in their words kept them speechless as Shuichi handed over a bowl, heavy with soup. "Say what you will about me, I have no concern for your opinion. But do not speak of my mother that way."

The solemn face shifted, hiding behind a great big smile as if someone had learned to make a light switch out of a child. Eyes were politely blank, teeth bared in the abandoned grin of youth. This, more than the abrupt appearance, unsettled the two women most of all. The happy little boy would have been believable if they had not just seen such displeasure only moments before. His voice was light, not at all the mature tenor that it had been. "As a matter of fact, perhaps you should just refrain from talking about her at all. That may be best."

He had already turned to leave before they could compute enough to nod. He walked down the sidewalk, across the street, and into the Minamino home without so much as a backward glance.

From that day forward, any rumors about the single mother and her strange little boy on Sakura Street were spoken only in hushed tones, behind closed doors.


	3. Gratitude

Notes: Someone dear to me has been watching Yu Yu Hakusho for the first time, which is pretty exciting for someone like me who has so few people to fangirl with. It has, however, brought up a few issues with the fandom. I've taken for granted that 'everyone' knows the Japanese terms that seem so prolific in fanfiction. But really? It can sometimes be confusing for people who have only seen the Funimation and Shonen Jump versions. Readers shouldn't be expected to know certain terms right off the bat. Here are a few that I have a habit of using. **Makai** – the Demon World plane. **Reikai **– The Spirit World. **Ningenkai** – The Human World. **Ningen** – Usually refers to a Human, though technically it could refer to a humanoid creature in the Human World. **Youkai **– Typically, a catch-all phrase for any of the Demon races of the Makai. **Youki**- Just think of the word 'Ki'. Refers to Demon energy. Just as **Reiki** refers to Human/Spirit World energy. **Tantei** – Means detective. Often times, Yusuke and company are referred to as the Reikai Tantei when they worked for the Spirit World. **Kitsune** – Foxes are popular creatures of Japanese mythology, and this is a rather common term. I highly suggest looking up stories about these creatures, as they are often inspiration for my Kurama head canon. And they just plain make for good stories.

**Gratitude**

The Spirit World, or Reikai as some legends would call it, never managed to live up to Kurama's expectations. The marble was unlike that of any palace he had seen; opalescent and grand, as if the walls and floors were cut from a single massive stone. The artistry was breathtaking in a detached, cold sort of manner. The energy swirling about like air was ancient and powerful, whispering of countless ages and an immeasurable future. But with every visit, Kurama found himself thoroughly disappointed by things he could not name. There was spirit, but no heart. Riches, but no wealth. It made him think of the renaissance style paintings of fruit bowls and feasts, lavish and mouthwatering, but with no real offer of sustenance.

He had seen this place far too many times for Youkai or Human.

He had been in this great palace as a thief, as a parolee, and as a consultant. But now, years after the Makai Tournament and well beyond the disbanding of their duties as Reikai Tantei, Kurama couldn't help but to feel that he had no business in this place. And so, it was with a sense of reluctance bordering on annoyance that he pushed open the ornate doors of Koenma's office.

The young godling had been expecting the visit, paperwork and stamps piled neatly for once on either side of the large desk. The toddler sat in the center, his brow drawn in thought and hands folded together as his red haired guest stepped into the room.

Kurama's composure was unreadable but relaxed, the weight of his spine resting on a slightly cocked hip in a posture of nonchalance. His voice was even, his words direct. "I did not expect to be called here, but for one final time."

With a gesture of tiny hands, the door closed with an audible, ominous thump. Kurama remained unfazed as the toddler gave a quiet sigh. Wasting no time, Koenma spoke around his ever-present binky. "Yes, well. Life rarely follows our expectations, now does it?" Small hands pulled a file down from the top of a pile, flipping it open to the first page. "I have a mission for you, so to speak. There is an individual of…great importance that needs to be located. We both know that finding elusive and valuable things is a particular skill of yours."

Kurama inhaled silently. The air, or the illusion of it, filled his lungs and straightened his diaphragm. His eyes were downcast, voice enigmatically empty of emotion. "If you are suggesting that I become a bounty hunter for the Reikai, my answer is no."

Koenma frowned, fingers halted in their turning of the page. Brown eyes looked up at the room's other occupant as he chose his words carefully. "Are you sure that this is the path you want to take, Kurama? With a history like yours, you could use as much of the Reikai's favor that you can get."

The Kitsune was motionless for a moment, something the godling initially took for indecision. When green eyes rose slowly to meet his own, however, Koenma understood the determination and resign that he found there. Kurama placed his hands into his pockets, preparing for the words that he knew would have to come one day. "These favors are just too steep. I have not, and will not, abandon this life. I am Shuichi Minamino, and I have served the time for my crime against Spirit World." Brown eyes stared at him silently, giving away nothing. This time, Kurama allowed his own eyes to reflect the sincerity of his words. The importance of his decision. "I wish to return to the life I've built. A life that has no room for more risk."

Koenma's voice was irritatingly knowing, like a child who had already peeked beneath the Christmas tree. He baited the mortal, "Seems like a difficult life for a fox. No adventure, no challenge. Nothing at all to stimulate that inquisitive nature." There was a dramatic sigh before he continued, "Just an eventless, stagnant journey toward eventual death."

Kurama's gaze remained unaffected, having already run through all of his options and weighed his desires. It would not be easy, but an easy life was hardly worth living. His response was simple. "It's a journey that I look forward to."

Koenma closed the case file gently, folding his hands on top of the manila folder. His voice had grown solemn, reflecting the maturity that his appearance often failed at. "I don't think that you understand the gravity of human possession. It is one of the most heinous crimes that a Youkai can commit."

Green eyes darkened minutely, narrowing dangerously. "It is not a possession."

The other nodded, meeting that defensive glare with a calm and unaffected demeanor. "I'm well aware of what it is. That boy's soul could have resisted. Whether or not it would have survived the onslaught of a much older, much more experienced soul is another story all together." While his voice reflected his disapproval of the situation, there was also a sigh of acceptance. "What matters in the end, though, is that there _was_ no struggle. There was no destruction of spirit. Rather than harm one another, Fox and Human came together to create something new and unexpected. Internal alchemy in its most unique form."

Kurama was quiet for a while, taking in the words and letting them sink to his core. He had known the conditions of his current existence, though he still felt as if he were missing pieces. The first years of this new life, he had assumed the Human spirit to have been weak and merged only out of survival instinct. He assumed that the combining, rather than possessing, was due to Youko's own injured condition. But as he explored his newfound Humanity and continuously found himself at odds with the world that he thought he had a firm grasp on, Kurama began to wonder which had in fact been the stronger soul.

That was neither here nor there, Kurama reminded himself. He refocused on the conversation at hand. "Then you understand that I have every right to protect the life and family of Shuichi Minamino."

Koenma gave a slow nod, eyes rising to give the other an all too knowing look. "Yes, I do." The file was placed back into the stack, the matter obviously dismissed. "I just want whatever is left of Youko to understand, as well. The only reason you have this life that you're so adamant about protecting…is because that human soul decided to share it with you."

Kurama's lips tugged into a wry smile. He did not need someone else to tell him of the gift he had come across. Once upon a time, Youko may not have been able to see it. To understand what it was. But Kurama did. Shuichi did.

And in the end, that's all that mattered.


	4. Strength

**Strength**

Helplessness. Vulnerability. Absolute weakness. Youko Kurama was more familiar with these things than he would ever care to admit. The Makai was a world of survival and treachery, with very few laws and even less mercy. There was hardly a lovely Youkai, Kitsune in particular, that managed to slide through life without knowing the hardship of slavery.

Kurama was proud to say that the majority of his life had been spent in fierce freedom, but there were the memories of chain and blood. There were times of subjugation and objectification. If there were a profit to be had, then there were those who sought it. And a silver young fox could easily be turned to profit.

Of course, there had also been cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Pain and torture in the name of revenge or the illusion of power. Whatever the circumstances, Youko had known his share of being weakened from malnutrition, muscles too useless to fend off the most feeble of attacks. He knew what it was to have another's hands on his body, pushing and pulling, dragging and manipulating while all he can do is curse them in every tongue he spoke. There had been nights, weeks, and even months where all he could do was watch and listen as his very life was juggled in careless hands. Kurama had been to Rock Bottom, had carved his name there in the cold stone and swore time and time again that he would never allow such recklessness if only he could survive just a little longer.

Yet here he was, in perhaps the most precarious situation yet. Even as a young kit, still feeding from his mother's milk, he had more strength and agility than this feeble human body. There was no balance, no coordination. He would squirm and flail as he attempted movement, then sleep would overtake him. So much sleep! It was like being drugged, or on the brink of death. He could do nothing but wriggle and latch on to the human tit, yet he was exhausted from it all.

Oblivion was often better than the alternative. He would lie in a nest of blankets, within a raised wooden cage with no top. He could see outside of it, could raise his hands upward, yet he still felt fatally bound by his own body. The pale blue walls and hanging mobile offered nothing to occupy his tired and restless mind, and so it would wander and speculate. What if there were a fire? An earthquake? He was utterly helpless. What if something happened to the two humans that cared for him? What sort of community do these creatures have? Would he die of dehydration before anyone even knew?

The frustration was unbearable and he gave a scream- a small, shrill thing that made him cringe in loathing. Tiny legs kicked out in exasperation, moving on their own accord as Kurama's coordination was still next to nonexistent. He felt his foot, small and tender, hit the edge of the crib and drag down the blanket that had been draped across the side.

His world went black. The cotton seemed impossibly thick as it piled on top of him, weighing against his delicate frame. His legs continued to kick, arms flailing, but his strength was not yet enough to overcome the weight of such a large object. It was like drowning, losing the perception of where his limbs were in relation to his body. The air was leaving his lungs in tiny gasps, mouth and nose muffled by the fibers as his hands could not manage to find his own face. This was his punishment. He couldn't help but to imagine someone up in Reikai laughing at it all; the powerful and cunning Youko Kurama having escaped death, only to smother on the pathetic weakness of humanity.

Then there was light, and air! Glorious air! He took several shuddering breaths and had not yet orientated himself before he was lifted and further bewildered. There was warmth as he was pressed against a much larger body, a woman's voice speaking in worried tones. When he was brought to her face, he noticed the haggard, unkempt appearance. Her eyes were wide, no doubt having heard his scream of frustration and had come to investigate. Her skin was slightly sallow, eyes adorned with deep, dark rings. There was concern and fear there, but also exhaustion.

"Oh, my baby. Shuichi, baby. Mommy was just trying to take a nap. You can't pull things on top of you like that."

Kurama wasn't certain of his own appearance, but he knew that his eyes were hard and accusing. He could feel the fury of helplessness radiating from his very being, certain that at least some of it could be glimpsed through his eyes. This woman could go without sleep for the next ten years, for all he cared. Youko Kurama needed to become stronger, no matter what or who was sacrificed in the process.

A flashback to Kurama's infant days. As a newborn, the weakness was close to death. Like a terrible wound that takes a lifetime to heal.

- A pillow falls onto baby!Shuichi and he is utterly helpless. Perhaps passes out and wakes to Shiori, or remains conscious at her arrival.


End file.
